My Second Chance : Reborn of Tycoon
Copyright© 2026 by BillMax
Chapter 5: Less Than Ten Minutes
“Move.”
Elena shoved Serena aside. “I’ll say it one last time. Mind your own business.”
Serena did not dare push further. He could only glare at Marcus before shutting up.
Elena steadied herself and continued. “Mr. Hale said the drunkard’s interest isn’t in the wine—meaning he wanted the book for this stamp.
Given what just happened, no matter how I bid against you, as long as I didn’t exceed the stamp’s value, you would never let go.
And I would never lose my mind and bid without a ceiling.
Truthfully, my limit was ten thousand.
So either way you would have taken the book. The so-called treasure was never mine to begin with. What’s the point of anger?”
Her words were open and honest. Regret sat plainly on her face. The more Marcus looked at her, the more he approved.
Proud without arrogance. Rational without pettiness. With the right guidance she could become an excellent executive.
“Sir, willing to sell that stamp? I’ll pay a million!” the shopkeeper suddenly interjected.
Marcus laughed. “You’re slick as hell.
I just found a bargain and you’re already trying to buy it back?
You think I’m some fool who can’t read value? A million for something worth four or five million? Do you even know the word shame?”
The shopkeeper’s face turned the color of raw liver.
“Damn—a scrap of paper is worth five million? You’ve lost your mind. Only an idiot would buy it,” Serena blurted out.
He came from money, but between five million for a stamp and a weekend with a few celebrities, he would choose the weekend every time.
“Shut up. Nobody thinks you’re mute.”
Elena shot him a fierce look, then turned to Marcus. “If you really want to sell, I can give you four million right now. Cash for goods on the spot.
Keep in mind five million would be the final auction price—and that’s not guaranteed. Even if it hits that number, after commission what you actually pocket...”
“Done. Transfer it.”
Marcus’s decisiveness left Elena stunned. Her instincts screamed that something was off, but she could not name what.
When the bank transfer cleared, Marcus said goodbye and left the bookstore without looking back.
Elena carefully wrapped the stamp in her handkerchief and tucked it close to her body. She was about to leave when she froze.
“What’s wrong?” Serena asked.
“Don’t forget what he said. Stay as far from anyone named Megan as possible.”
“Huh? Why?”
“Because from start to finish I never introduced myself—and he called me Miss Shaw.
If I’m not mistaken...”
Elena drew a deep breath. Her eyes flickered. “The reason he talked with us so long after getting the book was to sell the stamp to me and get the money as fast as possible.”
She was right.
Marcus was not a collector. To him antiques were currency. An auction house might earn more, but waiting ten or fifteen days was not something a couple of million could compensate for.
With his ten-million-in-a-month bet with Gordon Vance hanging over him, every minute was worth more than gold.
Netting four million on day one put Marcus in excellent spirits. On the way home he stopped at the seafood market and made a special trip to a flower shop for roses.
A decent husband did more than earn money. Small romantic gestures mattered—especially when your wife was furious with you.
Using skills honed in his previous life, Marcus poured everything into a full table of seafood. He waited. Eight o’clock came and went. Claire still was not home.
He dialed her cell. No answer. His face darkened. He called Hannah next.
“Ms. Kane, you’ve got more nerve than I imagined.”
Since watching the video of her father’s murder, Hannah had been drowning in shock, rage, and grief. She had cried herself hoarse. Marcus’s threat jolted her awake.
“Mr. Hale, I don’t understand. Wasn’t the money already transferred?”
“Then why isn’t my wife home from work yet?”
“That shouldn’t be happening. I told design and sales in no uncertain terms—”
Hannah’s words stopped mid-sentence. Marcus understood instantly.
“Alan Prescott took Claire out, didn’t he?
Why haven’t you called the police?”
“I ... he...”
Hannah stammered. Marcus wanted to reach through the signal and slap her.
He had sought Hannah out today precisely because Alan Prescott had been the accomplice behind Claire’s death in his previous life.
He wanted to change that trajectory. He had not expected Hannah to be this weak.
Her own father had been murdered, yet she was still weighing marital loyalty—as if anyone could decide whether to call her heartless or cowardly.
“Hannah Kane, you better pray my wife comes home safe tonight.
Otherwise you’ll learn that compared to me, the husband who killed your father-in-law will look like an angel.”
“Mr. Hale, you— Hello? Hello?”
The dial tone hammered Hannah’s chest. She immediately called Alan.
“Did you take Designer Jensen from the design department out to entertain clients?”
“What’s wrong with that?”